Inside the villa, silence ruled the air like an unspoken command.
The study room was dimly lit, its elegance reflecting wealth and authority, yet something about the atmosphere felt heavy, almost suffocating, as if the walls themselves knew the truth hidden within them.
At the center of the room, Gabriel Moreau sat alone behind a polished wooden desk, his hands moving slowly as he closed a black briefcase filled to the brim with neatly stacked bundles of cash. The faint rustle of paper echoed in the quiet, each note inside that case carrying a weight far greater than its value.
Ghost stood at the entrance, his figure half swallowed by shadow.
For a brief moment, he simply watched.
A man who had everything.
A life built on prestige.
A home surrounded by beauty.
And yet…
He had chosen this.
"I never imagined," Ghost said softly, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade, "that a man who lives in a place like this would sell himself for something so small."
